


Rebellion

by bittenfeld



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apollo isn’t himself these days, and Starbuck needs to find out if the Andromeda is behind it.</p><p>As Starbuck approached, Apollo looked up from his conversation with Colonel Swarmer of the Andromeda, and the captain’s voice changed.  “Colonel, this man is under arrest.  Could you please detain him until I can send a shuttle from the Galactica to return him for court-martial?”<br/>Starbuck couldn’t believe it. He raised a protesting hand.  “Apollo…”<br/>“Shut up, Lieutenant!”  Apollo turned on him.  “Hasn't your mouth gotten you into enough trouble already?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebellion

Tucking a towel around his waist, Boomer sucked in his already-trim hard belly, then reached into his locker for a second towel.

Starbuck couldn’t resist.

Wheeling from his own locker, he shot a fist at the unprotected stomach.

Boomer barely caught the threat out of the corner of his eye in time to spin around, arms raising in defense.

He forgot the open locker door.

With a clang, his head crashed against the metal corner. An abrupt yowl escaped his lips, and he slid to the floor, stunned. His head throbbed like it wanted to explode.

Starbuck was grinning when he looked up. Resting a fist on a slouched hip, the blond reached out the other hand to help. “Gee, I’m, uh, real sorry about that, buddy,” he lied through his even white teeth.

“Yeah, I’ll just bet you are… buddy.” Boomer contemplated smashing those pretty white teeth into that pretty white face. Instead, he took the proffered hand;, and pulled himself up. But then, before releasing his grip, he squeezed and twisted Starbuck’s wrist just a little to make him yelp. Boomer’s teeth bared in a hiss: “That’s one I owe ya, friend.”

Without warning, he threw a playful one-two at Starbuck’s flat middle. Starbuck laughed, bent over reflexively to move the target back an inch. But Boomer’s fist swiped in closer than expected, followed sharply by a passing feint to Starbuck’s lowered head.

Instantly Starbuck realized he was in trouble. He tried to block.

But already Boomer had turned away, and slinging the second towel over his shoulder, was sauntering toward the shower compartment. He rubbed the bump on the back of his head.

“Hey, take it easy, Boom!” the blond called after him. “Don’t fall and hurt yourself, now!”

The black man only gestured obscenely back at him. “Watch yourself, Bucko – you never know when my revenge is gonna come!” The door hummed shut behind him.

Starbuck grinned to himself, self-satisfied. Stripping out of his dirty uniform, he balled it up and stuffed it carelessly into his locker. After a hot shower and a refreshing change into clean clothes, maybe he’d take a stroll down to Life Section and see if a certain gorgeous med-tech was going off-duty.

Now, if Boomer would just get his ass out of the shower in ten seconds or less…

He reached for a towel.

“Hello again, Lieutenant,” a new voice greeted from behind.

Starbuck shot a startled glance over his shoulder.

Two men stood behind him. They both wore battle dress, but their insignia wasn’t Blue Squadron. In fact, Starbuck didn’t recognize it at all.

There was definitely something threatening about the two: their strides, their grins, fists on hips that pushed their jackets back enough to expose holstered laser pistols.

Starbuck managed an uneasy grin. “Uh, hi, guys. Anything I can do for you?”

One with a beard strolled a step forward. “Don’t you remember, Lieutenant?” He was taunting. “Or was it too long ago?” His amused gaze ran down Starbuck’s naked body.

Something clicked in Starbuck’s head. He nodded slowly. “Lieutenant Thorval, isn’t it?”

The bearded grin widened. “So you do remember.”

“Yeah, I remember. Twenty men left on the moon of Cepheus to be exterminated by the Cylons. Uh, of course, you managed to escape. Interesting.”

Thorval chuckled. “Nothing was ever proven.”

“No,” Starbuck agreed. “Especially since two members of the prosecution, uh, just happened to disappear one day – uh, probably exterminated by the Cylons too.”

“Probably.”

Starbuck reached into his locker.

The two men gripped pistol butts.

Starbuck spun around, hands raised, holding a towel gingerly by one corner. “Uh, excuse me,” he smiled cautiously, “But, uh, I feel kind of embarrassed standing here like this…” Slowly he lowered his hands to cinch the towel around his waist.

The door to the shower compartment hummed open. “Hey, Buck!” Boomer called. He was rubbing his hair, a towel over his head. “You know the hot water’s all…”

“Uh, Boom…” Starbuck interrupted gently.

Boomer looked up, and stopped in his tracks. His eyes shot from Starbuck, to the newcomers, to the pistols. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

Starbuck was grinning sickly. “Uh, you remember Lieutenant Thorval, don’cha, Boom? And this is his buddy – uh, I never did get your name, friend.”

Boomer stepped forward belligerently. “Oh yeah. Lieutenant Thorval. Cepheus.”

Thorval’s lips twisted. The black boy has a good memory.”

Boomer dashed the towel to the floor. “Dammit, Thorval, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

Thorval released the grip on his pistol butt, and strolled to the door with his partner, without even looking at Boomer. He smiled at Starbuck. “We, uh, came to offer our help – looks like the Galactica needs all the help she can get.”

Starbuck pushed forward. “We’re doing just fine without you, thank you. So you can just get your ass off our ship – and take your little friend with you!”

The pair stood on the other side of the door. Thorval still smiled through his beard. “Oh, uh, please give your commander our regards. I do hope he lives.” The door slid shut.

Boomer stared at the door, still breathing hard. “What in hell was that all about?” He bent over to swipe his towel off the floor.

“I don’t know – but it stinks. Something’s going on that maybe Colonel Tigh should know about.”

“Say, what ship are they from? I haven’t seen them on the Galactica before, and I didn’t recognize their insignia.”

“I didn’t ask – we weren’t exactly having a tea party in here.” Starbuck rummaged around in his locker for another towel.

Boomer pulled out some fresh clothes from his locker, next to Starbuck’s. “Well, seeing as how we are the command ship for the fleet and the only military base in the fleet, then if they didn’t come from here…”

“The Andromeda.”

“They’re civilian.”

“They don’t know that. Colonel Swarmer runs it like a military operation.” Tossing a towel around his neck,, Starbuck looked right at his partner. “But ya know something, Boom? I don’t care. I’m gonna shower and shave, then I’m gonna go down to Life Section and pick up a cute little blonde, then I’m gonna steal a bottle of mead from Command Center, and then I am going to have a very good time for the rest of the evening.”

“Sounds fine,” Boomer agreed, “except for one small detail.”

“And what might that be?”

Boomer eyed him casually. “I sure hope you like to shower and shave with cold water. Seems like I, uh, drained the hot water tanks.”

“Oh, thanks a lot, buddy!” Starbuck’s pale eyes flashed, then rolled ceilingward. “One of the advantages of living in a tin-can floating in the middle of nowhere!”

“Look at it this way,” Boomer suggested helpfully, “all this roughing it keeps you from getting too soft – know what I mean?” He patted Starbuck’s belly.

Starbuck couldn’t stand the man’s dark gentle gaze. Abruptly he smacked the back of a hand across Boomer’s middle. Boomer doubled up, mouth open. Starbuck smirked, and stepped around his partner. “Soft – yeah.”

The door slid shut behind him.  
* * * * *

The door almost slid shut in Starbuck’s face. Quickly he wedged himself into its track to force it open again, then jogged a couple of steps to reach Apollo’s angry stride toward the resting fighter ships.

“C’mon, buddy,” Starbuck urged, matching Apollo’s step. “Scramble Blue Squadron. We’ll attack the Andromeda – make ‘em surrender.”

Apollo didn’t look at him. “In case you’ve forgotten, Starbuck, this isn’t a war maneuver – the Andromeda’s one of our own ships, remember?”

“Yeah – with the Andromeda on our side, so who’s worried about the Cylons?” Starbuck muttered under his breath.

“Colonel Swarmer wants to assist with fleet repair. And he might know something about Boxey’s disappearance.”

“Of course he knows something about Boxey’s disappearance. He probably kidnapped him!”

Apollo hesitated in his stride, glared at his partner, then pushed right past him. “Have you been smoking Boomer’s ‘special’ cigars again?”

“Not this morning.” Starbuck danced backward a few steps to keep in front of Apollo’s strides. “Look, if that really was a real Cylon attack, then Colonel Tigh is the Imperious Leader! You know there’s something fishy going on – you said so yourself! And Colonel Swarmer is acting just a little too buddy-buddy in our hour of need!”

Apollo ignored him.

“C’mon, Apollo. Doesn’t it seem the least bit strange that the Andromeda came through that attack completely untouched when every other ship in the fleet was shot to hell? C’mon – Swarmer’s gotta be up to something!”

Again Apollo paused, stared back at Starbuck. “Colonel Swarmer has offered his aid since my father has been incapacitated. And with the Galactica half-shut down, the Andromeda is ready to fill in as command ship.”

“Oh, well, now, that really is a stroke of luck!” Starbuck mocked. “Blow the Galactica to hell – and the commander with it – then just happen to be ready to take over command. Boy, that’s convenient!”

Apollo stiffened. “The Galactica’s not finished – and neither is my father! You better start watching your mouth, Lieutenant.”

“I’m sorry , Apollo. But c’mon.” Starbuck got in front of him, reached for his shoulders. “Lieutenant Thorval – remember Lieutenant Thorval?”

“So?”

“Almost got himself court-martialled for mutiny, and suddenly Colonel requested his transfer to the Andromeda like he was the most valuable man in the fleet? C’mon, he’s teamed with Swarmer – they’re probably both teamed up with Baltar and the Cylons. Apollo, listen to me!”

Abruptly Apollo jerked out of Starbuck’s grasp and walked over to his ship.

“Apollo!” Starbuck pushed himself between Apollo and the Viper cockpit. “Swarmer’s just trying to get you over to the Andromeda. It’s a trick!”

“Yeah, and what’s he gonna do – kill me?”

“I don’t know!” The lieutenant gestured desperately. “Get you outta the way, take you prisoner… Apollo!” he argued the captain’s sarcastic expression. “Swarmer wants to take over command! Yeah, maybe even if it means killing you!”

“Can you prove any of this?”

“Well, no, but – c’mon, Apollo! It’s a gut feeling. Believe me! I know I’m right. Apollo – ”

Apollo was getting impatient. “If you’ve got something to say,. Lieutenant, say it! Otherwise get out of my way.”

“Say it?! I _am_ saying it! Hey, Apollo, it’s me, Starbuck, your buddy – remember?”

“Get out of my way.”

“Apollo!”

“Get out of my way – buddy!”

But Starbuck didn’t relinquish his position. “You can’t really believe him! I mean…”

“How many times do I have to say it? Now, get out of my way!” Apollo reached for his helmet sitting atop the fighter fuselage.

“No.” Starbuck captured Apollo’s arm. Talking obviously wasn’t doing any good. Maybe it was time for another tack. “Sorry, buddy, but I’m not gonna let you kill yourself in some idiot stunt like this.”

Starbuck thought he had never seen so much anger flash in Apollo’s eyes. The brunet tried to jerk out of Starbuck’s grip, but failed.

“Let go of me, Lieutenant! This is insubordination!”

“Yes sir, Cap’n, sir, whatever you say.” But Starbuck still held on.

Apollo tried to push him out of the way bodily. But Starbuck just grabbed on, and the both of them tumbled off-balance to the flight-deck.

Without warning, Apollo’s fist shot out at Starbuck’s face. Starbuck suddenly realized Apollo’s seriousness and pulled his head back instinctively. His skull smacked against the metal floor. He groaned.

Apollo started to push up off of him; Starbuck grabbed desperately, pulled him down, squeezed him in a body-lock. Apollo squirmed. He worked an elbow free, then jammed it back into Starbuck’s ribs. Starbuck grunted, eyes wide, mouth open, but he held his grip.

Apollo writhed and jabbed and wiggled until he had worked himself around to face Starbuck, then drew back his fist.

Starbuck slipped the punch, then smashed one of his own into Apollo’s side. Apollo grunted, doubled over.

Starbuck pushed himself up. Brutally Apollo’s head snapped back right into his chin. Blackness exploded before his eyes, and he tumbled back. Apollo rolled on top, slammed a punch into his face. It cut his cheek. Apollo’s knee rammed up into his belly, shooting his breath out.

Stiffly Apollo pushed himself off of Starbuck’s crumpled body, then limped toward the Viper.

Fighting the pain and his paralyzed breath, Starbuck flung himself at Apollo’s knees, tackled him down on top of himself again. Apollo swung a wild back-hand blow. Starbuck ducked his head to the side, and Apollo’s fist accidentally hit the deck instead. He yelled and grabbed his hand.

Starbuck moved. Quickly he rolled Apollo to the floor, captured his wrists, and sat on him. Apollo struggled. Starbuck bore down his weight. His arm pressed across Apollo’s neck, pinning him immovably.

For a drawn-out moment, both men breathed hard, bodies heaving, trembling, sweating.

Ineffectively Apollo squirmed. Damp strands of brown hair hung in his eyes. His teeth clenched, and between breaths he hissed, “Get off of me, dammit!”

Starbuck was fighting the sweaty hair in his own eyes. “Not until you promise to knock this off.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get off of me!”

“Promise to forget this idiot stunt? You gonna stay on the Galactica?”

“I promise, I promise! Just get your ass off of me!”

“Okay…” Slowly, hesitantly Starbuck released Apollo’s wrists, then pushed himself off of Apollo stiffly. “Okay, all… all right.” He hovered over Apollo as the captain crawled to his feet painfully. “You okay, buddy? You better have the doc take a look at that hand.”

Apollo nodded tightly, cradling his injury close to his body. Then savagely he jammed an elbow back into Starbuck’s unexpecting belly. Abruptly the blond doubled over, retching and gagging, and dropped to his knees.

Without a word, Apollo stepped over him and climbed into the Viper cockpit.

Starbuck closed his eyes. He’d failed. Apollo’s hatch slammed shut.

Contact. The engines roared. The ship trembled.

Painfully Starbuck crawled back from the machine. Apollo planned to launch whether or not Starbuck was in the way of the rockets’ blast.

The Viper moved down the launch tube into position. The airlock doors slid shut behind it.

Starbuck heard the rockets fire. Well, if that jerk could take off on a suicide stunt, he wasn’t going to fly it alone.

Ignoring the protests of his sore aching body, Starbuck forced himself to run to his own Viper.

The machine waited expectantly, cockpit open, helmet perched on the nose, fuel tanks full, lasers charged – if needed.

There wasn’t enough time to climb into his seat civilized, so he leaped into the cockpit, grabbing his helmet on the way in. With one hand he belted himself in, while the other snapped the hatch closed. His fist hit the power switch. Flight systems engaged, engines roared. He taxied to launch bay.

Airlock doors shut behind the craft; bay doors opened in front. Starbuck hardly waited for the go-ahead signal before he fired the thrusters. The forward push of the rockets rammed him back into his seat. He couldn’t breathe. Now he remembered his aching muscles.

The fighter shot down the launch tube, rumbling, vibrating, then catapulted through the open bay doors into black space.

Below him the fleet paraded by: ships of all types, all sizes, all conditions, faithfully dogging the heels of their mother-protector, the Galactica. Ahead of him in the night sky Apollo’s rockets glowed red. The Viper was already nearing the Andromeda.

The Andromeda was half the size of the Galactica – which made it the second biggest ship in the fleet. Miraculously that last Cylon attack had left it unscathed. Either the Cylons were lousy shots, or Colonel Swarmer had some special talent that the Galactica didn’t know about.

Apollo’s voice crackled over Starbuck’s head-set. “Who gave you permission to launch, Lieutenant?”

“Is that you, Captain, sir?” Starbuck shot back. “Would you repeat your question, sir? My radio’s not working very well.”

“I said, get your ass back to the Galactica, Lieutenant Starbuck, unless you want to spend some time on the prison-barge under court-martial.”

“Funny thing, sir, but this baby doesn’t wanna back up today. Guess my retros aren’t working very well either.”

Apollo didn’t answer. He was nearing the Andromeda’s landing deck. Starbuck heard Apollo’s transmission switch off.

For the first time, Starbuck wondered if Apollo was going to tell them not to let him land. Of course, technically speaking, they couldn’t prevent him from landing, they could just deny him permission to land. And what the hell, he was already in trouble up to his thrusters over insubordinate disobedience.

Still, he figured he’d better play it safe and radio in anyway. He switched his transmission to the Andromeda’s Core control. “Starship Control, Starship Control, this is Viper Two. Approaching Flight Deck Beta. Request permission to land.”

“Viper Two, this is Starship Control,” a crisp military voice responded. “Permission granted. You are cleared to land on Flight Deck Beta.” The communication clicked off.

Well, so far, so good. At least Apollo hadn't interfered yet. Maybe his turbos were beginning to cool off by now.

As the Viper approached the rectangular slot of the landing bay, Starbuck engaged controls, fired stabilizer rockets. The fighter reversed thrust, steadied to enter the horizontal slit looming up. Skillfully he guided the ship onto the deck, and glided to a halt beside Apollo’s craft.

His hatch popped open and he jumped out of the fighter. Apollo and Colonel Swarmer were already engaged in conversation about the battle, and the bad condition of the Galactica, and probably the weather as well. As Starbuck approached the pair, Apollo looked up, and his voice changed.

“Colonel, this man is under arrest. Could you please detain him until I can send a shuttle from the Galactica to return him for court-martial?”

Starbuck couldn’t believe it. He raised a protesting hand. “Apollo…”

“Shut up, Lieutenant!” Apollo turned on him. “Hasn't your mouth gotten you into enough trouble already?”

Colonel Swarmer was very accommodating. “Yes, we have a compartment to hold the prisoner in until you return.” He snapped his fingers at a nearby technician. “Maxon, notify Security to report to the flight deck immediately.”

Starbuck could only stare at Apollo. This couldn’t be real. The disaster had taken its toll on Apollo. The captain had lost his senses. Starbuck wondered if Apollo would even get back to the Galactic alive to order the shuttle. He wondered if either of them would ever get back to the Galactica alive again. Apollo avoided his gaze.

Instead he returned to his conversation with the colonel. “My son is lost too – we think he might have stowed away on a shuttle to one of the other ships. It’s possible he’s on the Andromeda somewhere.”

The colonel nodded. “We’ll start teams looking right away. Are you going to stay and supervise the search?”

Starbuck looked up to the ceiling. The colonel would like nothing better than to have Apollo volunteer to remain aboard the Andromeda, so that the Galactica would never even suspect foul play. Starbuck must have made a deprecating sound, because Apollo glanced back at him sharply.

Once more Apollo returned his attention to Swarmer. “No, I have to get back to the Galactica soon,” he declined. “Colonel Tigh needs all the help he can get right now.”

He was interrupted by the arrival of two security guards.

Swarmer indicated Starbuck by a nod to the side. “This man in under arrest. Take him to Gamma Section.

The two guards approached purposefully, pistols drawn. Slowly Starbuck raised his hands. One man reached to Starbuck’s hip for his sidearm. The other stood back, smiling beneath a beard.

Starbuck’s eyes widened. Didn’t Apollo see? Didn’t he recognize him? No matter how angry he was with Starbuck, he wouldn’t – he couldn’t – leave him under Lieutenant Thorval’s control.

Thorval drew a pair of manacles from his belt, jerked Starbuck’s arms back roughly, and snapped the cuffs on tight – a lot tighter than necessary.

Starbuck winced, strained against them. Thorval was having fun. Now Starbuck was going to find out just how serious the lieutenant’s threat of vengeance was.

Thorval tugged him to the door. Starbuck resisted. “Apollo!” he called. The man couldn’t allow this to happen – not to his best friend.

But Apollo’s eyes glared icy cold. “What do you want now, Lieutenant?”

Starbuck started to speak, then surrendered. Apollo didn’t realize, and he probably didn’t care anyway. The blond just shrugged helplessly. “Uh, see ya in court, uh, Captain – sir.”

Apollo turned away.

The two guards gripped Starbuck’s arms painfully. He let them usher him to the open doorway, but his eyes lingered on the back of Apollo’s head until the door slid shut between them.

 _to be continued someday_ …


End file.
